


Before/During/After

by Creme13rulee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blood, Brain Damage, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Zine:Namida, assistive technology, yoi angst zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: Everyone called it tragic.  News headlines, blog articles… half of Twitter. But it wasn’t a tragedy.It was unfair. It was impossible. It was wrong. It was an accident, a simple one that changed Yuuri and Viktor’s lives forever.Pinch-hit work for Namida: The YOI Angst Zine.Thank you to 3ameiphany for betareading <3





	Before/During/After

**Before**

Everyone called it tragic. News headlines, blog articles… half of Twitter. But it wasn’t a tragedy.  
It was unfair. It was impossible. It was wrong. It was an accident, a simple one that changed Yuuri and Viktor’s lives forever.

Viktor had been relaxed. It was only warm-ups, and Yuuri was going third. He was in first place, and had a good chance at keeping his place on the podium. Their honeymoon had ended that summer, and now every gold earned was just for the joy of it.

Then it happened.

One of the newly graduated skaters took a corner too fast. Yuuri’s eyes had met Viktor’s, before bodies collided, and his had snapped against the boards and hit the ice. Both had crumpled onto the ice, but Yuuri had been the only one not to scramble back up.

Viktor’s heart seized in his chest. He ran onto the ice before other skaters noticed the accident, They whizzed by, focused on the competition. Not their husband, laying like a limp ragdoll on the ice.

The newly Senior-level skater sobbed their apology, but Viktor didn’t listen. He watched, praying that Yuuri’s chest still expanded with breath. Blood spilled over his parted lips-- he had bitten his tongue on his way down. 

“Don’t move him!” Medics followed close behind, carrying out a board and neck brace onto the ice.

“Yuuri,” Viktor finally sobbed. “Yuuri, moya solnyshko, stay with me.”

Yuuri’s eyelashes fluttered before his eyes opened-- the soft honey color darkened by unevenly dilated pupils.

Viktor’s chest squeezed when Yuuri started fighting the medic team-- his arms swiping at the men and women holding him down and fastening restraints over his arm and a collar around his neck.

“Yuuri-- it’s okay-- they’re helping.” Viktor choked out. Yuuri lifted his hand on command, but when the medics asked him his name, nothing came from his lips.

“Sir, I need you to step back.” One of the larger medics bit out when they lifted Yuuri off the ice. He was still in his Team Japan jersey, the zipper pulled down halfway, his costume glittering underneath the lights.

“I’m his husband.” Viktor stood his ground. He was his coach too, but husband first. In sickness and health.

The terror truly didn’t set in until they transferred Yuuri into an ambulance, and the ISU medics left, Barcelona’s EMT’s taking over. They shined lights into Yuuri’s eyes, wiped blood from his lips. Viktor forced himself into the ambulance, pressing himself in the crowded vehicle, stretching to squeeze Yuuri’s fingers.

Yuuri's hands curl around Viktor’s, but his eyes are lost in confusion.

Viktor is left behind when they arrive at the hospital. It is only after a nurse took pity on him, leading him into a waiting room while Yuuri is taken for immediate surgery.

Phichit arrived half an hour later, sitting next to Viktor with a heavy arm around his shoulders. He gets the medical history Viktor could not piece together. Yakov takes care of insurance, while Viktor tries to remember an image of Yuuri that isn’t crumpled and dying on the ice.

Yuuri is still drowsy when the doctor allows Victor to visit him in the recovery room. Half of his head is shaved, skin stapled together under layers of gauze. They have a interpreter explain in English that there has been bleeding and minor swelling, but it looks good. Viktor repeats the words over and over in his head, trying to integrate it with his husband in the hospital bed. With his pale skin, the lingering summer tan washed out by major trauma. His dark lashes fluttering, eyelids heavy with sleep.

He smiles when Viktor leaned down and put his whole heart into a chaste kiss. Yuuri’s warm palm rested against Viktor’s cheek.

“Lyubov, how are you feeling?” Viktor felt some of the tension draining from him in response to his husbands sweet smile. But Yuuri’s brow furrowed, lips parting only to close. No words fall from his mouth, only a pitiful sound from deep in his throat and frustration tightening his jaw.

Nothing ever comes.

**During**

It’s their eighth day in the hospital, and the speech therapist is back with a new trick. She has the third iteration of Yuuri’s picture board-- a laminated sheet of paper with graphics for yes, no, a pain scale and a keyboard that Yuuri has to point to. The medical issue board was useless after the first few days. This version has a picture of Yuuri and Viktor glued into it, as well as a phonetic approximation of Phichit and Makkachin’s names added to it. 

Yuuri is doing well. His pain is well managed, his stress low-- except during communication.  
Yuuri only knows 3 Spanish words; English is hard; Japanese interpreters are impossible. oon the communication assistive device is converted to visuals only. It is slow going, and with visitor after visitor, Yuuri says less and less. He smiles during visits, even when Phichit comes twenty minutes after a particularly long seizure. 

Viktor adds more words to the picture board in sharpie when they come upon them. He knows Yuuri well enough that pet and skate needs to be on the board, right under ‘ I love you’, which Yuuri has yet to use. 

Instead, he pulls Viktor onto his hospital bed. He puts his weight against him, his soft lips against his husband's. He falls asleep, taking frequent naps curled into Viktor’s side. His hands speak for him in light touches and longing holds. 

They discover that Yuuri’s motor skills are fine--it’s mainly expressive language affected by the injury and subsequent bleed. He walks carefully, making a loop around the floor twice a day until they release him on the tenth day. 

Viktor books them first class tickets. He holds Yuuri’s arm as he writes ‘Russia’ onto the laminated paper Yuuri clutches like a lifeline. The Customs official frowns when Yuuri taps the messy handwriting, but he lets them through.  
The gauze wrapped around Yuuri’s head helps. Maybe they’ve been on the news— Viktor doesn’t know. All that matters is that Yuuri is alive. 

They make it from security to the gate and Viktor has no memory of it. Time and space becomes liminal when you spend your time thinking about your soulmate dying on the ice. 

“What’s wrong?” Viktor is constantly vigilant and notices the moment Yuuri’s brow pinches and his hands press to his forehead. 

Yuuri’s fingers dance across his forehead, before he finds the picture board. He points to the pain scale-- a seven. A headache, enough that Yuuri barely moves his neck to drink the water after Viktor places medication on his tongue. He manages enough movement to kiss Viktor’s hand and offer a soft smile.  
He sleeps through the entire flight, but when they finally reach home, sleep evades him. Viktor wakes up at 2 am to find Yuuri still massaging Makkachin’s paws, her head resting in his lap. 

The hardest night isn’t when Yuuri has his first seizure outside of a hospital setting. It’s when Phichit tags Viktor on Facebook. It’s an app he rarely uses, but after the dinner in Barcelona Phichit told him how heavily they used it in Detroit. The videos and photos are usually a treat, but the video Phichit shares this time twist Viktor's heart. 

It’s been two weeks, but it feels like he hasn’t heard Yuuri's voice in years. The video — a vlog Phichit took at Celestino's home over Christmas —- is the first time since before the competition Viktor has seen Yuuri looking relaxed and speaking easily. He is wearing an oversized sweater Viktor wouldn’t be caught dead in, explaining the difference between Christmas in Japan and the States to Phichit. His eyes focused on his friend behind the camera instead of the lens. 

“So you could totally have cake and a cute date with Viktor Nikiforov AND it wouldn’t even be special!” Phichit teases from behind the camera. Yuuri turns pink, opening his mouth for a retort before finding Celestino's golden retriever and quickly bending down to pet and coo at her. 

“There you have it. Yuuri totally has fantasized about having a hot date with Hottie Mcdreamy!” 

Phichit clearly has no qualms about sharing his cheesier side. But the flush on Yuuri's cheeks, the dreamy look on his eyes as he described strawberry topped Christmas cake and couples night create the ache in Viktor’s chest. 

He may never hear something like that from Yuuri again. Instead, he’ll watch the frustration and confusion in Yuuri's eyes as he struggles with expressive language. They know that Yuuri's receptive skills are still there, but there’s no guarantee that Yuuri will be able to express himself easily — nevertheless be able to do it in English or Russian. Their messy mix of three languages is now one sided. 

The only way Yuuri can express himself freely — skating— is off the table. One step into Yubileyny and Viktor can’t breathe, the world shrinking and ambulance lights dancing behind his eyes. He sees the ghost of Yuuri crumpled on the ice, even though logically he knows he left him at the speech therapy clinic an hour before. 

It’s selfish, but Viktor convinced himself that if he can’t handle it, he can’t bear to bring Yuuri here and force him to experience the same without being able to talk through it. 

Instead they spend their days together, visiting coffee shops and restaurants Viktor chooses off the Internet. Things start to feel normal —- Yuuri gets put on medication to help with his insomnia and the seizures slowly get managed too. 

But then they go to a dim Italian restaurant, and they leave after two bottles of Prosecco. The food was good, the wine was great, and they ended the night dancing together to the live band, hands on waists and faced nuzzled together, soft touches and soft smiles to slow jazz. 

They get to the stoop of their building before Yuuri goes stiff as a statue. 

“What is it, solnyshko?” Viktor hums, nuzzling Yuuri's soft cheeks. Yuuri claps his hands together, his shoulders rising and breath coming uneven. 

“I don’t…” Viktor frowns. They hadn’t been to a show since the Friday before. “Tell me on your board—“ 

Yuuri's movements become more frantic. 

Viktor remembers the speech therapist stopping him a month before: She asked him why Yuuri never brought the tablet loaded with AAC software. All Yuuri would have to do is to tap a picture and the mini tablet would play an audio clip in Russian of what he wanted to say. The categories were endless; the therapist even had loaded the scribbled additions to Yuuri's low tech paper onto the software.  
He knew exactly why Yuuri didn’t. It was his comfort item— something he had from Barcelona, the last place he was 100% okay. Using the tablet and the robotic voice in Russian was admitting that he really couldn’t talk. That his voice wasn’t his. 

Yuuri was an adult. Viktor couldn’t force his husband to use something he wasn’t comfortable with. But he made sure to plug in the tablet every night, regardless of use, and made sure Yuuri brought it to therapy. They continued using the low tech picture board exclusively. 

And now the paper was missing. 

“It’s okay! We’ll go back!” Viktor gripped Yuuri’s waist. He kept pace with Viktor despite being several centimeters shorter and having his vision blurred by unshed tears. Despite Viktor desperately fighting the urge to run back to the restaurant. 

“ _Excuse me, we left behind a piece of paper,_ ” Viktor rambled in his native language. His heart drops when the maitre’d stares blankly back. Viktor pulls Yuuri back into the dining room, searching for their table, but it it is cleaned and reset with no sign of Yuuri’s picture board. 

Twenty minutes after asking after every waiter in the restaurant, Yuuri pulls Viktor toward the door. He stomps all the way home, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Viktor uses Makkachin’s evening walk as an excuse. She watches him while he climbs into the dumpster behind the restaurant, politely waiting at the end of the alleyway, her leash in her mouth. 

Yuuri is curled up in bed, buried under a pile of blankets when Viktor returns home. His eyes are swollen, his glasses smudged with dried tears, and he doesn't move when Viktor bursts into the bedroom. He doesn’t so much as wrinkle his nose when Viktor waves the paper triumphantly in the air, even though Viktor is sure he will never wash out the garlic out of his three piece set. 

~ 

After Yuuri’s next speech appointment, the doctor follows him out of her office. 

“Mr. Nikiforov?” 

“-Katsuki.” Viktor added automatically, standing up from his chair in the waiting room. Yuuri tucked his head against his shoulder, and Viktor feels uneasy. 

“I understand that Yuuri is a Japanese National?” The therapist continued. Her Russian is too quick for Yuuri to follow, brain injury or not. 

“Yes…” 

“I think Yuuri’s needs would be better served in his native language.” The professional smile on her face flickered away. “As soon as possible. I know how much influence you hold over your husband… And love. I am worried his frustrations with his progress here are affecting him negatively.” 

“Oh.” Viktor blinked. It wouldn’t be the first time he had moved across the world on short notice. There was no real reason to stay in Russia if neither of them were skating either. 

**After**

It becomes easier as the months between them and the accident grow. Viktor reads Yuuri in a whole new way. Their morning routine becomes easier-- Viktor can even tell when he makes the coffee too strong or too sweet based on Yuuri’s nonverbal reaction 

The Katsuki’s welcome them back with open arms, and Yuuri starts therapy within a week of their arrival. 

He finally starts using the tablet from Russia, loaded with the Japanese dictionary. He uses it in English with Phichit on their weekly video calls. But, nearly a year later, Yuuri still refuses to use it with Viktor. It could be infuriating, watching Yuuri tap the screen of the tablet easily with an old neighbor… But somehow Viktor can’t find the irritation within himself. What he and Yuuri has is more intimate. The language of tilted heads, private smiles, and things only Viktor knows. 

Like how Yuuri always finds a way to surprise him. 

“Viktor.” Yuuri says, padding into their bedroom one night after a long bath together. Yuuri had gone to help Mari with closing duties, leaving Viktor on their bed with a worn Asimov paperback he had forgotten on their last trip to Hasetsu. Viktor dropped the book onto his face, stunned, before scrambling to sit up. 

“Yuuri?” He gasped, resting a hand over his rapidly beating heart. 

“Viktor.” Yuuri repeated, his voice sweet with laughter. It wasn’t perfect-- it wasn’t the same clear pronunciation of a freshly-departed-from-Detroit-Yuuri. He spoke slowly, his mouth taking its time to form the sounds. But it was beautiful, and more sweet and decadent than their wedding vows. 

He crawled onto the bed, sitting on Viktor’s lap, back straight and proud. 

“I… love you…” Viktor drank in Yuuri’s words, closing his eyes as his husband said them, slowly resting his forehead against Viktor’s. 


End file.
